


Final Thoughts and Last Requests

by myfortuneandterrorandrapture



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M, Gen, Moving On, Near Death Experiences
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2019-06-30 02:21:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15742173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myfortuneandterrorandrapture/pseuds/myfortuneandterrorandrapture
Summary: As Ressler reaches the brink of death, some familiar faces come back to haunt him.





	Final Thoughts and Last Requests

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sarabeth1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarabeth1/gifts).



The bullet was lodged somewhere in his stomach. Every time he breathed, he could feel his insides shift in a way that was wrong. Undercover missions with a drug cartel in the jungles of Latin America did not allow for bullet proof vests. Still, he felt he must be doing better than the woman he was half holding in his arms. 

Agent Donald Ressler, FBI was leaning against the outside of a perimeter wall surrounding the boss’s mansion. This man wasn’t even a blacklister, as Red’s intel had become sparser and sparser as time went on and he was driven further and further out of this game he had been playing. Not that the task force was the same as it once was. Samar was still not yet cleared back for active duty, but she would be soon. She spent her days at physical therapy and indulging Aram with ideas for their upcoming wedding. Liz was… Ressler didn’t quite know. She seemed more familiar to Ressler, like the woman he knew when they were partners, and yet something was very different about her. She was at least back to being more focused on her work with the FBI than her escapades with Reddington. 

That’s where this job had come from. Liz had profiled this drug cartel, who masked his business beneath humanitarian aid efforts and a thriving industrial business. Ressler had then gone undercover as a buyer of metal sheeting looking to buy something a little more fun on the side. But thin linen button-ups could not hide his bullet proof vest and it had been left behind. Of course, he wouldn’t really have needed it if not for the woman with him.

She was his CI. The housekeeper. Her son was in the cartel and her silence was bought through that loyalty to her son. But as she had watched her community crumble, as she watched her son no longer be her son, she became willing to help stop the madness around her. And now she was barely breathing beside Ressler, two bullet holes in her leg and shoulder.

Her wounds seemed less fatal than his own might be, but there seemed to be more blood. And there was another very important factor. She was not trained for any of this. She had been willing to inform, to spy, but now that mortality had entered the question, she was fighting for her right to live. 

An unknown factor had arisen while he had been undercover. A rival cartel had decided, at the end of Ressler’s undercover mission, that it was the perfect time to seize control. A siege had begun, and despite her son’s past choices, the housekeeper had been unwilling to leave him behind, leave him to die. But he had been killed, his mother had been caught in the crossfire, and Ressler had been hit trying to help her escape. An escape they were still in the middle of achieving.

They had made it though the servant’s hallways out the back door, through the hedges and out the now-unguarded gate. But blood loss had gotten the better of both of them, and they sheltered against a wall hidden by banana trees and ferns. The strike teams must be on their way by now. All that was left was to wait for their extraction, and stay alive. 

The woman’s breathing was shallow. Her eyes blinked slowly, slower. Spots filled the corners of Ressler’s vision. He almost couldn’t feel the pain in his stomach anymore. But he could hear faintly the sound of helicopters and regulation weapons, getting louder every moment. 

“Hey, stay with me here.” He lightly shook the woman, whose eyes had stayed shut for a moment too long. “Help is here, its almost here, just stay awake for a little bit longer.”

Her English was small and broken, but she seemed to understand, nodding and taking a deep breath, causing her to wince. The spots grew bigger in Ressler’s eyes. He couldn’t feel his fingers or legs. He was only still awake because he refused to give up on this brave middle aged mother who sacrificed everything to do the right thing. It was the least he owed her. 

“You’re going to be ok,” he kept whispering over and over, a mantra, a prayer, a solace to her and a challenge to himself. 

****

Everything after that becomes a blur. He vaguely remembers a stretcher, an airlift, tubes, masks, dressings. But every moment seems dimmer and less real than the last, until his vision is gone. He can still feel the nurses and doctors buzzing around him. He hears the word “losing” and knows they are talking about him. He can actually feel himself losing. And somehow, winning doesn’t feel important anymore. The last of his senses are fading; he can’t even feel the presence of hospital staff in the room. He thinks he must have been left alone to die, until a clear voice rings out from his left.

“You don’t look so hot, Ressler, and for you that’s saying something.” The voice is British and female. Ressler suddenly is completely, energetically awake. His eyes snap open.

“Meera?” 

She’s there, standing by the window of an otherwise empty hospital room, but it’s her, half smiling, arms crossed, neck unblemished. 

“Am I dead or hallucinating? Because if I’m dead, I wasn’t expecting you to be the one to welcome me to the afterlife.”

Her smile upticks more in one corner. “You’re not dead yet, but you’re not hallucinating. Not that you need to take my word for it. Maybe I am just a part of your subconscious. It’s not exactly something I can prove to you.” 

“If I’m not dead, then what’s happening?”

“You’re dying. Almost dead, sorry to be blunt about it, but there it is. I’m here because of unfinished business.”

“I’m your unfinished business?”

“No. I’m yours,” Meera’s lips were very thin now, her brows furrowed. “I wasn’t the first agent on a task force you’ve worked on that was killed in the line of duty. But for some reason you blame yourself specifically for my death.”

Ressler thought for a moment. “You made the right call in that club. And I didn’t listen. Yes, I know I was apprehending a suspect, yes I know I still followed procedure, but we didn’t get to you fast enough and now two boys are growing up without a mother. It was just all too soon after Audrey, after losing every member of the old Reddington task force, and I thought the pattern was starting all over again.” He pauses. Meera merely keeps watching him, waiting for Ressler to finish what he’s trying to say. “That I had been too late to save someone close to me. I’ve been able to save so many people I don’t know, directly or indirectly, but I can never seem to save anyone… that I love.”

Meera nods. “Yes, that’s how it can seem, but you know you’re wrong. You can’t put that burden on yourself. You’re one of the best agents that has ever passed through the FBI’s doors. And it’s not time for you to leave yet.”

Ressler had begun to feel tired again as Meera was talking. His body felt heavy and numb, except for his chest which felt cold, very cold, icy. 

“Do you miss your sons?” He asks weakly, but Meera had turned away from him and was looking out the window, which grows brighter and brighter. The doctors must have entered the room again, but it is too bright inside to see them. His chest burns now from the cold, and suddenly it feels as if thousands of needles are sticking into his heart. Everything goes black and silent.

Sometime between a millisecond and an eon later, he wakes up again. He thinks he might actually be dead this time, alone in this white wasteland, but his eyes adjust to the brightness and he realizes he’s not alone after all. 

His father is sitting in the corner on his right, resting in a low seated plush chair. The chair is distinctly hospital looking, but also reminds him of his father’s real armchair from Ressler’s childhood. Or perhaps it seems so only because his father is here sitting in it. 

His father notices his son is awake, and shifts further upright, smiling.

“Hey Donny, it’s been a long time.”

Ressler can’t think of any proper response. He inherited his stoicism, his silence from his father. But his mind is filled with questions, confessions.  
His father waits, patiently.

“I’ve let you down, Dad.”

“And how’s that, son?” he asks quietly.

“You were the bravest, smartest, most honest person I’ve ever known. You taught me to stick up for what is right and I always wanted to live up to your name after you were gone. It’s why I became a cop.” He takes a breath. “But, Dad, I’m a part of something now. Every day, everything I work on is the opposite of black and white. For a long time it bothered me that I was compromising on my morals for what I hoped was the Greater Good. But now I’m… scared. Of myself. Because it doesn’t bother me anymore. Because I done the wrong thing so many times, I can’t even see what the right thing is sometimes. I didn’t turn out like you.”

His father smile hasn’t left his face, but it’s changed to something sadder. Wiser. Ressler had envisioned admitting his truth to his father so many times in his dreams, but he had never imagined this reaction.

“Donald, you were eleven when I died. My life seemed black and white to you because that’s how you, a child, saw the world. You’ve thought this whole time that I made the perfect choices and fought the right battles, but I messed up all the time. People got hurt because of things I did and didn’t do. I made calls that felt right and turned out to be wrong… I made a decision that made you and your brother grow up without a father. Maybe there was another way where I could have watched you grow up.” 

He looks away for a moment, and then turns back to face his son.

“I am so proud of the man you’ve become.”

Ressler’s chest feels tight with emotion. And with cold. The burning ice feeling was returning. He struggles to keep looking at his father, but his vision blurs and wobbles, like trying to look in a mirror during an earthquake. Everything fades out to a dull grey and he is alone again.

Until a hand pulls him upright, the hospital bed no longer beneath him. The hand is soft, small, and the thumb rubs gentle circles against his palm. He knows whose hand it is. He knows he must be dead now. He opens his eyes, finally realizing they must have closed again at some point.

Audrey’s smile is breathtaking. She is shining with happiness and serenity. Ressler wants to hug her, kiss her, pull her close, but he doesn’t want to lose her from his line of sight, doesn’t want to stop looking into her eyes. He reaches up with his free hand to caress her face, to brush a loose stand of hair away. 

“If this is what death is, I’m glad I’m dead.”

Audrey’s smile broadens, wrinkling her nose. “You’re still not dead yet, silly.” 

Ressler’s eyes narrow for a moment in disbelief, confusion, perhaps even impatience.

“You’re at a point right now where you can make a choice. You can let go and come with me. Or you can hold on and go back.”

“You. I choose you.”

Audrey’s smile fades away. She holds his gaze. “Don, I don’t want you to.” She lifts up her hand to hold his hand on her face. “There is nothing saying that this is your time to go, so don’t.”

“But I want to. I want peace. I want to be happy again.”

“Don, you’ve never been one to give up. You won’t be happy giving up. I won’t be happy for you.”

Somehow Ressler knows she’s right, even agrees with her on some level. But.. “I was going to marry you. We were going to have a kid. We were supposed to grow old together. So let’s not grow old together.”

She shakes her head. “Stop fighting me. I’m here because if you’re ever going to listen to anyone, it’s going to be me. Now, you’re going back, and you’re going to move on.” Her smile returns. “Yes, you heard me right. You’re not going to spend your life pining over me like some Romeo. When you go back, it’s a second chance, so stop talking yourself out of happiness at every chance you get.”

“I think that might be a bit of an overstatement.”

Audrey laughs. “Maybe a little. But you need to let yourself be open again. To life. And love.”

“I miss you. Everyday. I’ll keep missing you for the rest of my life. Do …”

He can’t finish. If he finished the question, it would be real. The answer to his fear. His whole life, Ressler hadn’t cared much for the debate of what awaited after death. There either was something or there wasn’t. Didn’t matter which, he had always told himself. But some part of him had always wondered, dreaded, that maybe souls wouldn’t stay the same after death, if they stayed at all. Would people stop feeling, learning, loving? Would they remember who they had been, what they had done? 

What they had left behind?

Audrey takes a step closer to him. Kisses him deeply on the lips and then lightly on the forehead. 

“Of course I miss you,” she breathes against his skin. “The same way Meera misses her two sons, and your father misses his two sons. Now… it’s time for you to go back.” 

She lifts a hand to his heart, but her hand feels cold against him. 

“I love you,” she whispers and her hand presses so hard that he falls backward. His chest is on fire now and everything goes black and silent once again.

****

He wakes up again and the first thing he sees is Liz pacing the room. He momentarily panics, afraid that Liz has died and has joined him in that limbo. But his mind clears enough to grasp that everything around him is sharp and sensical and stable. The feeling upon waking when you realize a realistic dream was nonsense.

“Keen, you’re making me dizzy.”

She spins around, grinning. “Ressler, you’re awake.”

“I hope so,” he laughs, thinking about his recent experiences. But Liz doesn’t laugh. Waking up was something Ressler might have never done again.

“You flatlined. They had to shock you three times before your heart restarted. For a minute we thought we lost you.” 

His first thought is Liz’s body laying in the back of that truck. To her laying for months in a coma. She looks as scared now as he had felt then.

Suddenly it made sense. It wasn’t just missing someone that made you alive, it was the fear of missing someone. And yet that fear had also kept him from living. 

“Can’t get rid of me that easy,” he jokes, but he knows it sounds hollow to them both, even as Liz tries to smile again.

“The housekeeper survived, by the way,” Liz says quickly, changing he subject. “Her daughter flew up to be with her as she finishes recovering.”

“I didn’t know she had another child. I’m glad she’s not alone.” He pauses for a moment, thinking of her dead son. He pushes the thought away, hoping momentarily for a happy reunion for them someday. “How is the Post Office?”

“Well, we can only be down a certain amount of people on the task force, so Samar is officially reinstated. Aram is hoping for a June wedding.”

Ressler smiles. “He would. Remember when Samar first arrived and Aram had such a puppy dog crush on her? And now here they are getting ready to get hitched. Dreams can come true.” He turns serious again. “Why do you think they ended up together? We never thought it would actually work out between them, not at first at least.”

Liz stops to think, becoming a profiler. “I think it’s because of their shared experiences. It extends to our whole task force… we’ve all been through too much together to not be… well, bonded, I guess. We can trust each other no matter what, even when we keep secrets from each other. And we’ve always been there for each other.” She takes a step toward the bed and places her hand on top of his IV studded one. Her voice drops. “I really was afraid I lost you.”

Ressler nods slowing, holding her gaze. He flips his hand over to hold hers. He knows what he wants, what she wants. He knows he’s making the right call, hasn’t been this sure of anything in a long time. And there was no time like the present. Because tomorrow could bring anything.


End file.
